


Animal

by ShadowandSoot



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dorian friendship, F/M, Gen, Lavellan/Solas - Freeform, Post-Trespasser, Solas Romance, Trespasser Aftermath, Trespasser Spoilers, i'm an AO3 virgin please be gentle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-01 12:46:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5206394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowandSoot/pseuds/ShadowandSoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After finding out the truth about Solas, Cyril Lavellan has conflicted feelings towards the apostate she once loved. Can her anger hold up upon reunion?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Still Trying to Make My Mind up

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is my first ever anything. First time I've ever written fanfic (or anything creative), first time uploading to AO3, etc, so I'm a little nervous. 
> 
> I'm not quite sure where I'm going with this, but I would appreciate constructive feedback and/or suggestions for future chapters! Thank you~

It was times like this that she was grateful to have Dorian.

 

  Cyril had lost track of how many hours she had spent drinking away her rage and sorrow. Dorian sat next to her on the bench of a corner table in the Skyhold tavern while Maryden’s voice filled the building. Cyril slammed her cup down with such force that the other cups on the table rattled. 

  “That. _Fucking. Asshole_!” she said. She brought her elbows to the table and rested her forehead into her remaining hand. She still wasn’t used to only having one, and she still found herself trying to rest her chin on her left palm only to jolt her head back as it met no resistance. Her blood was pumping with fury and loathing, but she still felt the threatening burn of tears in her throat and in the corners of her eyes. She refused to let them fall.

  Dorian huffed a sigh and gave a knowing nod.

  “Told you never to trust a mage” he said with a small grin. He watched Cyril closely, worried that she was not yet prepared for jokes. He relaxed when he saw the corner of her mouth turn up ever so slightly even though she otherwise made no indication of amusement. Her hair was hiding much of her face, but he thought he saw a tear finally rolling down her cheek. He sighed again and placed a comforting hand on her back. Cyril sat there for a few minutes sifting through all the events of the past month.

_Solas was Fen’Harel,_ she told herself. _No, Solas_ is _Fen’Harel_.

  She hated him. Every nerve in her body pulsed with rage. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears and she couldn’t shake the urge to smash several fragile objects.

 _I love him._ She didn’t need to say the words aloud for them to sting. _No,_ she corrected herself again, _I loved him_. She mulled over the thought again and again until she couldn’t fight the burning in her throat anymore and a tear rolled down her cheek. She felt Dorian’s hand on her back, a warm comfort. She heaved a heavy breath, sat back against the wall, and took another swig of her drink.

“Thank you, Dorian.” She said as she linked her arm around his and rested her head on his shoulder.

“For what, dear, not berating you for the tears that you’ll inevitably stain his robe with?”

“I’m serious, Dorian; I don’t know what I’d do without you here.”

Dorian kissed the top of her head and his voice became genuine. “Of course.”

  Her last few words were hollow as she actually knew what she would have done had Dorian not been there: She remembered Solas kissing her for one last time and casting an enchantment on her arm as the Anchor sputtered in protest. When she had awoke it was dark and Dorian had been sitting beside her bed, asleep, propped on one arm, and with a book in his lap. Her entire body had been aching, but nowhere more than her Anchored arm. It was in a sling around her neck and she made to grasp it only to meet a half-full sling. Her breathing had quickened and she began to whine as what happened had begun to dawn on her. Dorian woke to her cries and had leapt from his chair and wrapped his arm around her shoulder and hastily tried to explain what had happened before she completely broke down. When she had begun screaming into Dorian’s chest, Cassandra had burst into the room in a panic. When Cassandra saw that Cyril was safe, she quickly went and fetched the rest of Cyril’s companions. They had each taken turns visiting Cyril in recovery and she was grateful for each of them, but at the end of the day when they had all retired to their respective beds, it was Dorian who stayed with her in her room. She had asked him to stay just so she wouldn’t be alone and he had not hesitated to comply. He spoke only when she spoke to him and he answered all her questions about what had happened while she was out. She had been grateful –as she was now- in his otherwise silence. It was a comfort that at least one of the men she loved was still with her. She knew that if Dorian hadn’t been there she would have succumbed to her grief, her pain, her fury. She still felt the dull ache of misery gnawing at her, but she stayed knowing that there was someone who would miss her.

She sat up and made an attempt of crossing her arms while still fumbling over the absent limb.

She wondered if Solas missed her. Her face contorted in anger. Why was she torturing herself like this? Why did she care? She kept ruminating over the things he had said to her years ago.

“I’m not certain this is the best idea; it could lead to trouble”

“It will be kinder in the long run.”

“-a emotional entanglement that will benefit neither of us”

  She scrunched her nose, his words recited in her mind in a mocking high pitched voice. True, she had kissed him first that time in the Fade, but he had kissed her back. All those times he had smiled coyly while shaking his head and then leaning in to kiss her again. She had given him so many times to back out before she began to love him but he had pursued. He had removed her vallaslin and in doing so removed her ties to her people. She couldn’t go back to them now. All she had was her small makeshift family here at Skyhold and she knew that it wouldn’t last forever. Now that the Inquisition had moved to be become a peacekeeping force under the Divine, many were leaving. Josephine was back in Antiva already, Bull was Maker-knows-where, Leliana was ruling as Divine, and Cassandra split her time between the Chantry and rebuilding the Seekers. Even Dorian would be leaving soon. Cyril was lucky that he had taken even this much time from his magister duties.  Solas had taken everything from her. Her clan, her friends, her arm, her heart, her trust. He had taken all of it and he knew what he was doing the whole time. All those times he had called her _vhenan_ just to make her believe he cared for her while he planned to destroy the world.

 _Did_ she still love him though? Thinking about him made her boil with rage but also made her heart sink into her feet and her stomach clench. She couldn’t imagine loving someone who did to her what he had done. But she did love him. She didn’t want to still care for him and she was furious with herself for doing so. She had trusted too much, given too much of herself. She had given him leverage. _I do still love him_ , she thought to herself with a pang of guilt.

She sat up straight and grabbed her cup, trying to lace her fingers with those of her phantom hand.

“You know what, Dorian?” she said. Her voice was croaky from stifled tears.

“I don't, but I expect you're about to tell me”

Cyril’s grip on her cup hardened and her brow knotted with menace.

 

“ _I’m going to fucking kill him_.”


	2. Just to Hide in this Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyril Lavellan tries to deal with insomnia and phantom pains but isn't sure if the end result is any less painful.

Dorian raised his eyebrows.  
“What happened to trying to just stop him? Trying to “change the Wolf’s heart”? Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to see you exact swift vengeance on Solas but what changed your mind?”  
“’Change the Wolf’s heart’?” Cyril scoffed and took another drink. “Solas doesn’t have a heart, he never did. All lies, manipulation. He knew exactly how to get his way, knew exactly which strings to pull. I’m not even going to give him the chance to regret it. He’s been given too many chances already.”  
“Well I certainly hope you don’t plan on doing any of this without me,” Dorian said.  
“You can put off magister obligations that easily?”  
“To bring justice to a raging megalomaniac who’s trying to destroy the world out of some twisted sense of duty? I’m tempted to raise my grandmother from the grave to aid in the effort.” Dorian shrugged. “Besides, I’m fairly positive that making sure the world isn’t razed to the ground is a part of being magister. As much as some of my countrymen would prefer to deny it, Tevinter is a part of Thedas.”  
A smile crept its way to Cyril’s lips.  
“Careful there, Dorian; you’re starting to sound like a noble, upstanding citizen.”  
“Not in either of our lifetimes, my dear” Dorian said with a grin.

  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *

That night was another sleepless one as Cyril mulled over her evening with Dorian. That day was the first time she had truly had a chance to talk about her feelings about Solas. In the weeks after Exalted Council, Cyril had spent her time negotiating the fate of the Inquisition. She had not had the time to think too long about Solas.

She stared at the ceiling while trying not to focus on the dull, aching pain in her arm. The Anchor was like Solas that way; it managed to hurt her even in its absence. After hours of tossing and turning, she finally gave up. She sat up and pulled on a robe. There wasn’t much to do at this time of night, so she decided to make her way to the library. She took the stairs from the main hall rather than passing through the rotunda. She had avoided it like the blight and she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end whenever she passed it.

Cyril walked up to the library. The silence was unsettling. With the rookery now empty, she realised this was the first time she had been there without the familiar sound of cawing, scraping, and flapping wings. She walked over to the nook where Dorian had once frequented. Just beside his armchair were select rows of Dorian’s favourite books— the rest of the library was meticulously curated by the complex system Dorian had composed. Cyril sat in the armchair and ran her fingers over the spines of the books. She pulled one of them off the shelf and propped it open in her lap. She flipped through the dusty pages but processed none of the information on them. She couldn’t seem to focus. It felt like the rotunda below was boring into her and the feeling chilled her. She snapped the book shut and slid it back to its place on the shelf. Taking a deep breath, she stood up and squared her shoulders as she walked to the balcony. Her eyes were shut tight and she reached out for the railing to steady herself. She took another deep breath and opened her eyes, looking into the rotunda below.  
It was still there.

What had she expected? She shook her head and sighed. Of course it was still there, no one was going to demolish a room out of Skyhold. Cyril stepped slowly down the stairs into the rotunda. It felt larger somehow. The air hummed with residual magic. She felt it tingling her skin and her arm didn’t hurt as much. The desk Solas used to sit at was still in the middle of the room, although the only things on it now were half-melted candles, a stack of blank papers, and a small cup of assorted pens.

She walked along the walls of the murals. Solas had spent months painting them. Cyril would never have thought him the artist when they first met, but he had painted with smooth, deliberate strokes. She had sat with him, watching him paint while she asked him questions about spirits, demons, and the Fade. When Solas had answered her, it was without the slightest interruption to his brush strokes. He had seemed to paint with a kind of rhythm that flowed with every word like a dance to a song. Cyril had later admitted to him that she never heard half of what he had told her; she had been too distracted by his graceful hands to pay any attention. The memory was bittersweet. 

Cyril was flooded by bittersweet memories now that she stood in the rotunda. She remembered his soft laugh, they subtle way he smelled of dirt, the snarky comments he muttered under his breath for only her to hear that made her struggle to keep a straight face.  
And that was all it took: Cyril fell to her knees, fell against the mural, and screamed into the empty room. Hot tears started streaming down her face and she no longer tried to hold them back. She brushed her hair out of her face and looked up towards the empty rookery above, sobbing miserably.

_Mourning._

That was what she had been missing. Even when Solas disappeared after they had killed Corypheus, she hadn’t mourned. She had always been so busy with the Inquisition. Something always demanded her attention. Whenever she thought of Solas, it had made her angry. All her feelings about him for over two years had been anger. Now though? Now, all the sadness and feelings of loss that she had ignored for so long were bursting through the dam she built. She hated admitting it- even if only to herself- but she missed him. She had loved him. She had indulged in childish fantasies of their future together. They had walked all over Southern Thedas, spent months out in the middle of a hundred nowheres, whispered back and forth as their companions slept. Not only was it all gone, she would never know if it was real. She sniffed back the remainder of her tears.  
“If you were trying to distract me, then congratulations, you bastard, it worked!” Cyril shouted at the room.  
A voice rang out behind her, clear as a bell and unmistakable:  
“ _You sound upset, vhenan._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a slightly better idea of what I'm doing with this, so chapter three should be up soon-ish-ly?


	3. Free or Tied Up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solas dialogue is in italics to emphasise the Veil-ly-ness~~

Cyril nearly leapt from her skin. She tried to scream but the sound was trapped in her throat. She whipped around to face Solas but when she turned, there was no one behind her. Her breathing was short and shallow as she desperately scanned the rotunda for the source of the voice. Had she imaged it? It sounded so clear she could have sworn Solas was right there. She took a deep breath.

“Sol-" she cleared her throat, “Solas?” she said in a small voice. She felt so silly but compelled to ask. Solas’s voice rang out again through the air.

“ _I am here._ ”

Cyril’s eyes continued to dart around the room.

“How? Where?”

Solas’s voice was a calm and level as ever.

“ _After so much experimentation, the Veil has grown thin here. Not as thin as in some places: I must focus in order to hear you, but I felt a disturbance in the Veil when you cried out, vhenan._ ”

Cyril clenched her jaw.        

“Do _not_ call me that,” she snarled through gritted teeth.

“ _As you wish,_ Inquisitor.” His voice clipped oddly when he said _Inquisitor_ — he almost sounded bitter. Cyril furrowed her brow. Why should _he_ be upset? This was just a sick game to him after all, wasn’t it?

“What do you want, Solas?”

“ _I believe it was you who first called out to me_.” He suddenly sounded very curt, and Cyril resented it.

“Yeah, well I wasn’t expecting you to fucking show up!” she crossed her arms as well as she was able to with a missing forearm, and suddenly she wondered if Solas knew she had been crying, let alone crying over _him_. Her eyes grew wide.

“Wait, can you see me?” she said as she hastily wiped away the tears that were still damp on her cheeks. She could feel the heat in her ears and the puffiness in her eyes.

“ _No, I cannot see you. How- How have you been, Inquisitor? I hope your arm has healed well.”_

A jolt of hot anger shot through her and she became aware of the soreness in her arm again.

“Oh, the one you evaporated off of me? It’s doing just great, thanks,” she said briskly. “You could have just ignored me, Solas, but you made the effort of disrupting and upsetting me, so what do you want?”

There was a long silence. Cyril waited for an answer, but she suddenly thought that Solas had left. Her stomach knotted.

“Solas?” Her voiced betrayed her sudden concern.

“ _I… I wanted to hear your voice. I have missed you_.”

Cyril relaxed upon hearing the sincerity in his voice. She had forgotten the comfort of that voice. She didn’t respond and he was quiet again.

“ _I see now that it was a selfish impulse. I am sorry for upsetting you. I am sorry for all the pain I have caused you. It was cruel of me, and I had no right. Should you allow it, I would like to apologise in person.”_

Cyril swallowed hard. Her heart was racing— pounding in her ears.

“In person? Like in the Fade?” She couldn’t deny she wanted to see him, although she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to kiss him or kill him. Perhaps both, she thought. She had no idea how she would react to seeing him in front of her again. She was so angry, bent on vengeance. At least she was in theory. Now that she was talking to him, she was having trouble staying mad at him.

“ _Not in the Fade. In_ person _. The clearing in Crestwood where-”_

“-where you broke up with me the first time?” she said with a raised eyebrow. Solas was quiet for a moment again. She heard him clear his throat.

“ _...Yes. The Veil is thin enough there for me to pass through._ ”

“And how do I know this isn’t… a trap or something?” She thought of all the ways she had planned to stop Solas: imprisoning him, killing him, anything to stop his plan to destroy the Veil and the world along with it. This would be a perfect way to draw him into a trap. How could she know he wasn’t planning the same?

“ _A trap?_ ” Solas sounded genuinely confused. “ _Killing you would benefit no one, least of all myself. Even so, if I did plan on ambushing you in some way, I would certainly not prearrange it with you.”_

Cyril mulled it over. She knew Solas had become immeasurably stronger in the past two years, and with her missing arm there were slim chances of her being able to overpower him if things went south. She hadn’t started trying to relearn how to use her staff with one arm, although Dagna promised her that she was working on a prosthetic that would make it easier.

“Can I think about it?”

“ _Take as much time as you need, Inquisitor_.”

Cyril smiled to herself; Solas was always so formal.

“You can use my name, Solas. You don’t have to call me Inquisitor. I just didn’t want you calling me… _that_.”

 _Vhenan_.

“ _I see. Then take as much time as you need, Cyril._ ”

A tingle ran down her spine— a small high from hearing her name on his tongue again.

“How do I contact you?”

“ _You can contact me here. I will hear you wherever I am. You may have to speak up, though. As I said, it takes a bit of focus to hear through this area of the Veil._ ”

“Alright. I’m going to go now,” Cyril said. The sun was beginning to rise and she didn’t want to risk getting caught talking to Solas. She began walking towards the main hall.

“ _Be safe,_ ” Solas’s voice rang through the air.

She paused in the doorway but decided not to say anything.

-

 

Cyril was lying in bed again, eyes wide. Did that really just happen? Was she so sleepless that she had hallucinated the whole thing? Surely there was no way-

But perhaps she could use a meeting with Solas to her advantage. Maybe she could stop him, either by persuasion or by force. She knew what she had to do, and she also knew what she _would_ do. She knew she could never decide what to do before actually standing before him. She knew that only once she was looking him in the face would she be able to make a choice. She was furious with herself. Her sentimentality was holding her back from what she knew was right. But she couldn’t ignore the softness, the earnestness, the warmth in Solas’s voice. She kept replaying the encounter over and over again until she finally drifted off to sleep.


	4. Somebody I Knew Before

Cyril awoke to a knock on her door. She groaned and rolled over. Another knock.

“Cyril?” It was Dorian. “Are you alright? You’re not one to sleep in.”

“Thanks, Dorian, I’m fine. I just had a… long night,” Cyril said, blinking away the sunlight. She was trying to remember if her encounter with Solas had been a dream or not. She was mostly certain it had happened, but she hadn’t discounted that she was finally going mad.

“Might I come in? I brought breakfast and I can’t risk callousing these hands with any more manual labour.”

Cyril rolled out of bed and opened the door for Dorian. His bright smile masked concern— well enough that the unassuming wouldn’t have noticed, but Cyril knew him well enough to know when he was hiding something. She ushered him into the room.

“Next time,” she yawned, “if you have food, lead with that, yeah?” She flopped onto the couch in front of the fireplace and patted the seat next to her. Dorian sat down and nestled the tray of food between them. The tray had an assortment of fruit, jams, and toast, as well as a teapot with two small cups. Cyril picked at a piece of toast while desperately trying to avoid eye contact with Dorian. Cyril may have known him well enough to know when he was hiding something, but Dorian knew her just as well and she knew he could tell something was amiss. She could feel him watching her.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Cyril? You look uneasy. Is there something I can do to help?”

She considered telling Dorian about the night before but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Mostly because she knew that Dorian would tell her not to meet with Solas and she knew he’d be right, but she wanted to see Solas anyway. Hearing Dorian say it aloud would just make her feel guiltier. She looked up to meet Dorian’s eyes. _Damn that puppy dog face_ , she thought.

“Dorian, really, I’m fine. Or at least I will be. I’m just still adjusting to everything, you know?” she said while we wiggled her residual arm in his direction.

Dorian nodded and poured each of them a cup of tea. He cleared his throat.

“I’m going to have to return to Tevinter soon. I’m afraid I’ve put off my duties for as long as I can.”

Cyril took a long sip of her tea.

“I know,” she said grimly, looking intently at the bottom of her cup. She quietly decided to wait until Dorian was back in Tevinter to meet with Solas. “How long’s the trip?”

“Usually just over two weeks. It’s perfect, really; gives them just enough time to prepare all the rose petals to throw at my feet upon my arrival,” he said with a flourish of hand.

Cyril contained a laugh and nodded.

“When are you leaving?”

“I’m thinking the day after tomorrow.” Cyril hummed an acknowledgment. Dorian had his eyes trained on her, waiting to gauge her reaction. She was sure he could tell something was off and was waiting a chance to call her on it.

“Well,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant, “you know I’m going to miss you, but at least you’re never too far;” she pointed to her bedside table where the crystal Dorian had given her at the Winter Palace laid.

“Ah, yes, always close to my heart,” Dorian said with a smile as he patted his chest— his own crystal was on a long chain around his neck, just out of sight under his clothes. The two of them finished their tea in relative silence as the sun inched its way across the sky. When the cups and dishes were empty, Dorian got to his feet and picked up the tray.

“I suppose I’ll leave you to your inquisiting duties. Ugh, I have so much to pack, but it’s worth it to bring _some_ fashion sense into the South.”

Cyril shook her head and got up to open the door for Dorian as he left. As he exited, Cyril placed her hand on his arm to hold him back. Dorian raised a questioning eyebrow at her. She bit her tongue. She desperately wanted to tell Dorian about Solas, but she knew there was no way to make it sound good. She didn’t want Dorian to worry about her.

“Thanks again, Dorian. For… everything. Really.”

Dorian returned a gentle smile.

“For my best- and possibly only- friend? Of course.”

 

Later that night, once Skyhold was asleep, Cyril snuck into the rotunda. She kept looking over her shoulder for any late night stragglers, although she didn’t think anyone would have cause to be in the rotunda at this hour. She rested her candle holder on the table in the middle of the room and scanned the area again for people.

“Solas?” she whispered. She knew Solas had said to speak up, but she didn’t want to risk any undue attention. She cleared her throat.

“Solas?” Her voice echoed up into the rookery above.

“ _Yes, Cyril?_ ” Solas’s voice rang through the air.

“I want to meet. This time next week.”

“ _I am glad to hear it, lethallan._ ” There was relief in his voice.  

“But not in Crestwood. You want me to travel for days while you just pop through the Veil?”

“ _Moving physically through the Veil is never easy, even for me_.”

Cyril rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean, Solas. We… We brought the eluvian from the Winter Palace here.” Leliana and the rest of the Inquisition had decided that the eluvian was too valuable to be destroyed but too dangerous to keep at the Winter Palace.

“ _Yes, I am well aware of the eluvian in Skyhold’s basement,_ ” Solas said matter-of-factly. Cyril groaned; all of the time Dorian, Vivienne, and a dozen other powerful mages put into making sure that eluvian remained useable but hidden from the crossroads was apparently wasted. It seemed Solas was always three steps ahead of them.  Then her brow furrowed: Solas knew about the eluvian in Skyhold and never took advantage of it. He was more than powerful enough to overtake the now-meager personnel.  Solas may have said that he had no intention to kill Cyril, but surely he knew that the Inquisition was looking for him. He could have destroyed the Inquisition from its foundation. Cyril began to wonder what he was really planning.

“Ugh, of course you know about it. Can we meet at the crossroads or not, then?” she said impatiently.

“ _If that is what you wish. I look forward to seeing you._ ”

Cyril began to turn towards the door to the main hall but then stopped herself.

“Solas, wait. The day after tomorrow. Not next week, the day after tomorrow. Same time.” Since Solas agreed to meet at the crossroads, Cyril was keen to see Solas as soon as possible. A nagging voice in the back of her mind chastised her for feeling so eager to be with Solas, but she couldn’t stop herself now that she was so close.

“ _The day after tomorrow,_ ” Solas confirmed.

Cyril smiled to herself. As she walked back to her quarters, she felt her stomach twist itself into a knot and —for the first time in a long time— it was from excitement rather than dread. She settled into bed and fell asleep more soundly than she had in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao what is pacing, my bad


	5. Pulling Your Disguise Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyril says goodbye to Dorian.  
> Solas and Cyril reunite at the Crossroads.

The day of Dorian’s departure arrived quickly. Cyril woke up that morning with a sickening sinking feeling in her stomach. Nearly all of her inner circle— her humble makeshift family— was gone and now Dorian was leaving too. She sat at the edge of her bed, staring at her feet. She tallied off all of her companions in her head. The only person left at Skyhold who had any intent of staying was Cullen. She was immensely grateful to have him, but she couldn’t help a nagging thought in the back of her mind: _You’re going to be alone again._ She propped her elbows on her knees and rested her forehead into her palm. She sat there for several minutes with her eyes shut tight, trying to calm herself. Finally, she heaved a sigh, sat up, squared her shoulders, and then got to her feet. She got dressed slowly as she was still learning to tie the laces of her breeches and other clothes with one hand. She managed to tie simple knots one-handed, but she had yet to find a way to braid the sides of her hair out of her face. She blew exasperated breaths at the silver-white strands that fell in front of her face as the tied the knots of her boots. She grabbed a fistful of hair and loosely twisted down the back of her head. She looked down at the abrupt end of her left arm. It was mostly healed now, but it still ached with pain; she bandaged it tightly. She found that the pressure relieved some the discomfort.

When she walked into the main hall, Dorian’s Tevinter guards were moving heavy trunks into the courtyard. Dorian stood by the doorway.

“Be careful with those! Those trunks are worth just as much as their contents!” He propped his hands on his hips. “Must I do everything myself?” he breathed. Cyril smiled to herself. She knew he was being overdramatic for effect and she was already beginning to miss his jests. She walked up behind him and placed her hand on his back. Dorian turned to face the source of contact and smiled when he saw Cyril. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a tight squeeze. She stiffened at the unexpected gesture but quickly relaxed and returned the embrace, smiling into Dorian’s shoulder. Dorian was never one to be so candid with his affection, so for him to do so meant a great deal. Dorian pulled away and drew Cyril to arms-length with his hands on her shoulders.

“Well, today is the day!” he said with feigned gusto. “I can hardly wait to be back, hunched over diplomatic correspondence, at the beck and call of the entire Imperium!” He tousled his hair and heaved a heavy sigh.

“Dorian, you’ll be fine. You were doing fine before you came back to Skyhold and you’ll be fine after you leave Skyhold.”

Dorian frowned at her. “Yes, Cyril, I know I’ll be _fine_ but I don’t want to be _fine_ , I want to be better than _fine_. Is that really so much to ask?”

“No, I know... Have you got enough supplies for the trip?”

“Ah, yes, plenty. Or rather, enough to get us to Nevarra to resupply.” Dorian looked out over the courtyard. “So, what does the Inquisition have planned these days?”

“Oh- uh-” Cyril felt her pulse quicken and she thought of her fast approaching meeting with Solas. “You know, just housekeeping. Cullen’s working on consolidating our agents and troops. Trying to decide who stays here and who gets stationed with Leliana in Val Royeaux.” She tried to keep a cool head. Dorian nodded.

“Any news on Solas?” he asked. Andraste’s ass, how was Dorian plucking every right chord? Cyril wondered if he somehow knew about Solas and was trying to pry the truth out her. She felt heat rising in her ears; she hated lying to Dorian.

“No- no, nothing yet,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“I’m sure something will turn up soon.” His tone implied that his ignorance was genuine and Cyril quietly sighed her relief. “Solas did have spies in the Inquisition at a point, and if you have a network of spies, then you must have _some_ kind of trail somewhere.”

“Yes,” Cyril agreed, “I’m sure we’ll find something… soon.”

Once supplies and his belongings were packed in several caravans, Dorian stood by the front gate of Skyhold with Cyril. He turned to her and took her hand in his.

“This never gets easier, does it?” Dorian said dejectedly. Cyril smiled sympathetically at him.

“No, I don’t think it does.”

“Anything you need, anything at all, you contact me at once,” he said as he touched the communication crystal around his neck. Cyril nodded assuredly. Dorian forced a smile, but Cyril noticed his eyes beginning to well. She blinked away her own tears that were starting to form.

“Dorian-”

“Ah, ah, ah” Dorian interrupted and he pulled her into another tight hug. “We’re well beyond words, dear.” He pulled away with a sniff and wiped a stray tear away on his cuff. “Ah, Commander, come proclaim your love for me in an effort to get me to stay?” Dorian called out over Cyril’s shoulder with his familiar pep. Cyril turned to see Cullen walking towards them. Cullen gave an exasperated shrug.

“Oh, come on-! I’m here to see my friend off, don’t make it weird,” Cullen said while failing to suppress a smile. The two men hugged.

“Keep an eye on this one, Commander. Who knows what kind of mischief she’ll get into without my hand to guide her,” Dorian said. Cyril laughed nervously. _If only you knew, Dorian_ , she thought. A short bark of a laugh escaped Cullen.

“I’m fairly certain she’s _less_ likely to get into trouble without you around,” he said, “but you will be missed none the less.” Cyril did her best to remain composed as her heartbeat began to pound in her ears. Dorian’s guards filed into their caravans and started to rouse the horses.

“I suppose I can’t put this off much longer,” Dorian shrugged.

“Travel safe. Let me know when you get back to Tevinter,” Cyril said.

“Of course.” Dorian gave Cyril a kiss on the cheek with loud exaggerated _MWAH!_ and then did the same to Cullen who protested wildly as he turned beet red. Cyril laughed as Dorian climbed into his caravan. As Dorian and his convoy grew small in the distance, Cullen gave Cyril’s shoulder a squeeze and turned back towards Skyhold. Cyril remained at the wall, watching Dorian’s procession grow smaller and smaller in the distance as tears quietly rolled down her cheeks. She finally headed back into Skyhold as Dorian disappeared over the horizon. 

 

 

Cyril had been so distracted by Dorian leaving that the night snuck up on her. She was occupying herself with Varric’s latest novel which he had sent to her a few weeks earlier. She normally wasn’t a fan of cheesy fiction, but she enjoyed the characters who were thinly veiled members of the Inquisition. She snapped the book shut and placed it back on her desk. She looked intently at her staff for several minutes debating whether to take it with her to the Crossroads. There was no way she would be able to use it properly. Was it worth taking it with her in case she needed to shoot off some half-cast spell? She shrugged and decided to leave it behind. She walked into the war room, which was now empty, and unlocked a small storage room just off to the side. The only thing in the room was the tall eluvian. Cyril walked up to the mirror and looked at her reflection. She looked tired. She flattened her palm against the eluvian and the surface began to swirl at the contact. Cyril pushed her hand against the mirror until the surface broke and then passed through it.

The Crossroads looked the same as it had. The air hummed with the energy of the Fade, so much closer and stronger here than in the waking world. Scattered trees were peppered with small pink blossoms. The sky twinkled with stars, but Cyril recognised none of the constellations. She walked down the few steps from the eluvian and walked into the large— seemingly floating— clearing. She walked gingerly to the edge and looked over. It appeared to on forever and Cyril wondered what would happen if she were to fall over the edge.

“Inquisitor.” Cyril jumped and nearly did fall over into the apparent oblivion. She whipped around and saw Solas standing in the middle of the clearing. He was wearing the same regal robes and wolf pelt he had been wearing when Cyril had last seen him, but he had forgone the heavy metal armour. Cyril approached him slowly, cautiously. Solas stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Cyril looked him up and down. She could practically feel the power and energy exuding from him. This was not the meek hedge mage she had met years prior: this was a god. As she got closer, she noticed a fuzzy layer of dark brown hair covering his head. She tilted her head slightly; she had never really considered that Solas could even grow hair. She had never seen him shave it so she never thought that being bald was a choice. Solas stood completely still as Cyril came face to face with him. They were standing inches apart and neither seemed to want to break the silence. Cyril slowly extended a hand and rested it on Solas’s chest. She had to confirm that he was really standing there in front of her. His heart was beating surprisingly fast under Cyril’s hand. She didn’t think he’d be this nervous. Solas looked from Cyril to the hand on his chest and back again, still silent as his arms relaxed to his sides.

“Solas,” she croaked. Her mind was blank, she didn’t know what to say. Every thought and curse she had saved for him had disappeared. She wanted to be angry, she _should_ be angry, she thought, but now that he was before her she couldn’t muster her previously held fury.

“Cyril,” Solas replied with a nod. He gently placed his hand over hers and he watched her closely for an adverse reaction, but Cyril was still staring blankly at his chest. He moved her hand away from his chest and clasped her hand in both of his. Cyril finally looked up and met his eyes. Her eyes were wide and desperate. She started to shift her weight and Solas stiffened, but before he could properly react, Cyril had flung her arms around his waist and buried her face into the wolf pelt draped over his shoulder. Solas stood frozen with his arms out at his side but then gently wrapped them around her shoulders. She wasn’t crying. She was holding onto him so tightly, breathing him in. Through all the stress and anger, Cyril had forgotten how much she missed him. There had been so many times over the last two years that she had wanted to vent out all her frustrations or turn to someone for comfort. She was always happy to have her friends there for her, but something always felt lacking. Now that she had Solas in her arms she knew that he was what she had been missing so desperately. She took a deep breath and pulled away to look in his face again.

“I am so glad you came,” Solas said. Cyril could tell from the timbre of his voice that he held back the word _vhenan_.

“I’m glad I came, too.” Cyril looped her hand around the back of Solas’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. Solas’s body finally relaxed as he returned the kiss with unexpected fervour. He wrapped one arm around her waist and tangled the other in her hair. He pulled her closer to him until Cyril’s toes barely touched the ground. They pulled apart as Cyril ran her fingers over the soft fuzz of hair on Solas’s head.

“Solas, I have missed you so much,” she started and Solas clenched his jaw, he knew what was coming:

“but-” There it was. Cyril swallowed hard, eyes scanning his face.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked desperately. Solas’s brows knit together and he cocked his head at her. Cyril mirrored the expression. “You know what I’m talking about, Solas. Don’t play dumb.” Her voice became harsh as she remembered why she was here. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. She never thought she would have to convince the person she loved not to destroy the world with her in it.

“Do you think that destroying this world, killing all these people, will undo what you did?” Solas shifted in place and drew his shoulders back, becoming overly formal once again. His nostrils flared and he grit his teeth.

“Why can’t you see tha-? This will just make you a monster. Again. You can’t rewrite the past. You’re doing this because you think you can right your mistakes, but it’s too late. You think you can live with the guilt of this world on your conscience? Isn’t that why you’re doing this in the first place? Because you can’t deal with the guilt of destroying your world? What makes you think you’ll be able to live with the guilt of destroying this one? You haven’t even _tried_ to live in this world, you never did.  You kept yourself so detached from everything, from everyone.” Now that she started, the words were spilling out of her, tumbling over one another. She knew that if she didn’t get it all out now she’d get too swept up in him again. Solas’s eyes were locked on hers and he was becoming more and more tense with every word. Cyril shook her head at him. She could feel tears burning in her throat, but she choked them back.

“Is that why you left? It was getting too real for you? Guess what, Solas, I’m real,” she said as she poked herself in the chest. Cyril’s voice was growing louder as she could longer hold back the hurt and heartbreak. She met Solas’s eyes, her brow furrowed, and anger and sorrow lining her face. “Everyone is real. This world isn’t some fever dream you’re having. Do you think that if you don’t get attached that it will negate all the pain you’ll be causing? Pretending that none of this is real does mean that it isn’t. There’s nothing in this world worth saving to you? _Nothing_?” Solas’s eyes started to glimmer with the threat of tears. She looked down at their almost-touching feet.

“Not even me? Not even us?” she said, her voice ragged. Solas had remained stock still the entire time. He brought a hand to cup Cyril’s face and she instinctively leaned into it before she could consciously stop herself. Solas opened his mouth to speak, but Cyril interrupted him.

“Fen’Harel may have been who you were, but Solas is who you are. It’s who you are here and now. Why can’t you see that? You can make a difference here. You can’t undo what you did, but you can learn from it. This world is worth saving.” Cyril took a deep breath and looked back up at Solas. She was ready for him to leave, to run— to kill her?— to do something other than what he did; his chest rose, his eyes pooled with tears, and he fell down to his knees in front of her as a cry escaped his lips. Cyril jumped in surprise but quickly composed herself. Solas wrapped his arms around her hips and cried into her stomach. Cyril gingerly ran comforting strokes down his head and felt moisture blooming in the fabric of her shirt. She grasped Solas by the chin to pull his face away and lowered herself onto her knees so that they were face to face again. Solas’s face was red and his eyes were puffy. He sniffed away the last of his tears and Cyril brushed his wet cheeks with her thumb. He took several staggered breaths.

“Cyril,” he said, his voice weak, “I am sorry, I am so sorry, I’m sorry, I am-, Ir abelas, vhenan, ma-” he trailed off into elvish she couldn’t understand. Cyril placed a finger on his lips to silence him and wrapped her arms around him. Solas slid his arms around her waist and buried his face into her shoulder. Cyril rested her head against his. She had never seen Solas this way— so vulnerable, like a raw nerve. He had confided in her in the past, but never like this. She had never seen him crying, never seen him so broken down, she could feel him shaking- no, not shaking- trembling. Only minutes before she had thought him so grand, stately, powerful, _indestructible_. And now this broken man was crying into her shoulder choking out muffled apologies.

“Solas,” Cyril ushered him off of her shoulder and his eyes grew wide as he met her gaze.

“I’m sorry; you asked me not to call you that- vhenan, I mean. I know it upset you, and-”

“Solas, it’s okay. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t missed it. I just… It still hurts,” she said. Solas nodded.

“You were right,” he said. He brushed Cyril’s hair out of her face and trailed his fingers along the length of her ear. “You have always been right— about everything. Always. I tried to convince myself this was my duty, that none of this was real. And then you came along and,” he swallowed hard, “you were real. And you showed me _they_ were real. That this world and its people, as flawed as they are, are real. I made this mistake and I felt like I needed to fix it, but you showed me that there is nothing to fix. At least… not in the way that I had planned to fix it.” Solas touched his forehead to Cyril’s.

“I’m sorry about your arm,” he sighed. He held her left arm in his hands and the phantom pains in the arm seemed to subside. Cyril didn’t know if this was simply from comfort or if Solas was using some kind of magic.

“You saved my life, Solas. I would have died. I’d rather be alive with one arm than be not be alive at all. If you weren’t for you, the anchor would have killed me. I’ll let you apologise for everything else, but never for this,” she said, turning her arm over in his hands. Solas ran his fingers over the folded edge of her sleeve and gave it a tug.

“May I?”

Cyril looked between Solas and her arm. Solas holding her made the pain lessen, but she also couldn’t help but remember him holding onto her arm before destroying it. Hesitantly, she nodded at him. Solas unfolded the sleeve and rolled it up her arm. When he saw the bandage, he relinquished his hold of her and raised his eyebrows.

“I am sorry; I did not think you would still be healing.”

“Oh, it’s not,” Cyril said with a shake of her head. She began to unwrap the bandage. “Well, technically it’s healed, but it still hurts, sometimes. It feels like the arm is still there, aching. It’s not always that bad, but I noticed that putting pressure it on it helps.”

Solas took her arm again and pressed a long kiss onto the scar that ended her arm abruptly just below the elbow.

“That’s not quite the kind of pressure I meant,” Cyril chuckled, but the ache continued to diminish the more Solas held her. “Solas, are you… doing something to it?”

“Not consciously, no. Magic is stronger here, though. Barriers are weaker.” His fingers traced up her arm, barely touching her skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“What kind of barriers?” Cyril breathed, eyeing Solas’s wandering fingers with caution.

“Oh,” Solas started— his fingers had grazed their way across Cyril’s shoulder and up her neck until his hand rested on her nape— “all kinds of barriers.” The shadow of a self-satisfied grin appeared on his lips. Cyril was focusing on Solas’s nose and trying desperately not to give in to his embrace.

She failed.

They crashed into each other and their lips met again. Their last kiss had been one of comfort and reunion, but this kiss was one of lost loves: desperate and hectic and heated. Solas ran his hands down Cyril’s back until he was cupping her backside and a surprised whimper escaped her. However, as Solas pulled Cyril closer to him, she pushed herself off of him. Her breathing was heavy and her hand lingered on his chest.

“Solas, stop. I can’t do this. Not right now. This is all still too much right now.” Cyril chewed her lip.  

“Of course, vhenan,” Solas nodded, and then his eyes grew wide with panic. “ _Fenedhis_ , I did it again, I am sorry-”

“Solas, it’s alright. You… you can say it. But only if you mean it.” Cyril’s face fell. “If you ever meant it, that is.”

Solas closed his eyes and sighed. He looked back up at her and he spoke with a rattled breath, “I lied- regretfully- about many things, and I can never make up for what I put you through. But if there is one thing in my life I never lied about, it is how I felt about you. How I _feel_ about you. Vhenan.” He said the word with a finality, a certainty. Cyril smiled.

“Can we just… sit here for a while?” Cyril asked.

“Of course we can.”

Solas took Cyril’s hand and laid back on the grass, gently tugging Cyril down with him. She rested her head on his chest. She had missed this. She had missed feeling his warmth next to her, and hearing his heartbeat and soft breaths. Solas slid his arms around her and they found a familiar pattern as they embraced. They spoke no more words to each other and after a stretch of comfortable silence, they both drifted off to sleep with the strange constellations of the Crossroads glinting above them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This interaction was the whole reason I wanted to write this thing, I just had it in my head and wanted to explore writing it out. I really enjoyed it, but I'm not sure if I want to end it here or continue?  
> I'd love some feedback! Thank you!


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